Combat Boots and Clover
by D.L. SchizoAuthoress
Summary: Sequel to Might as Well. Chapter Eight: Back in Minnesota, happiness isn't in great abundance either. Charlie and Adam play P.I. while Dean starts gasp, scream, faint reading. [ON HIATUS]
1. PORTMAN Letters, Arguments, and Kisses

A/N: Hello and welcome again to the Spirals Universe. You are within the second spiral--"Falling Further"--and having completed the "Might as Well" portion of Falling Further, we are now embarking upon the acid trip that is "Combat Boots and Clover." Please keep your hands and arms inside the cart at all times; we are not liable for the replacement of or reimbursement for missing body parts. Please do not feed the animals, humans, or Ducks that you may see along the way, no matter how cute they are. Believe me, they'll follow you home, and I doubt if some of them are completely housebroken.   
  
Please note the lack of listening suggestions at the beginning of each chapter. This is because of a desire to not distract from the content of the chapter, and the authoress's innate laziness. Also note that "Combat Boots and Clover" is a distinct departure from SchizoAuthoress's normal writing style for Spirals, which has been forgone in favor of a first-person narration. Thank you and enjoy yourselves.  
  
As always yours~~Schiz  
  
****  
  
"Combat Boots and Clover" (a mighty ducks fanfiction by SchizoAuthoress)  
  
[DEAN AARON PORTMAN]  
  
I was reluctant to let go of Fulton as we passed through the gates of Eden Hall, but other students were out and about, despite the earliness of the hour--it was six o'clock, but I'm used to sleeping in unless I'm dragged unwillingly from bed to a scheduled hockey practice, so six is early to me. While most of the students were aware of our relationship, I would have been really, really displeased if the good mood I was in was ruined by some macho asshole trying to prove his manliness by taking on a pair of 'queers.' So I opted for covertly holding Fulton's hand instead. We made it to our dorm without incident.  
  
I hardly noticed when the resident supervisor handed Fulton the letter. It had arrived earlier that morning with the rest of the mail--it probably made it into town yesterday, but there is a slight delay with Eden Hall's mail because the faculty checks to see that nothing illegal is sent to Eden Hall. Their actions are 'questionably legal themselves', as Fulton says, but the envelopes never show any sign of tampering, so they must just feel for suspicious stuff in the envelope or check addresses.   
  
We went up to the room and I was shutting the door when I heard Fulton gasp behind me.  
  
"What?" I demanded, whirling to face him, "What's wrong?"  
  
"It's a letter from my mom," Fulton choked out, looking up at me, his dark eyes wide and disbelieving. "She's never, never written to me before. She's in Louisiana with my Uncle Bobby."   
  
I remember him telling me about the guy. His mother's brother, Robert Hampton, Bobby to everyone in the family. It makes sense that his mom would be there, if not in Minnesota, since she was originally from Baton Rogue, Louisiana.  
  
"Read it!" I cried, but Fulton was already ripping open the envelope as I did. He scanned the letter quickly, and I waited with bated breath to hear the news. Fulton sat down heavily on his bed as he finished reading.   
  
He looked up at me, and I could see sadness and anger and pain dancing in his dark gaze. His tone was low and unhappy as he told me, "My mom ran away from a treatment center in St. Paul and she's staying at Uncle Bobby's house. They're trying to talk her into going in for detox again....and he wants me to come stay with her."  
  
For the second time in two minutes, I replied to the information he gave me with a very intelligent, "What?"  
  
"Uncle Bobby and Aunt Louise seem to think that Mom will respond to /me/ better; that if I ask her to go into a treatment center, she'll go and she'll stay there. But it would be a long process to convince her to do that, so they say that I should move to Baton Rogue with them and finish out the school year there." Fulton looked stricken as he elaborated the situation. I shook my head angrily.   
  
"No."  
  
"No? What no?" Fulton inquired dully. I leaned down and grabbed his shoulders, saying quickly,   
  
"Don't go to Baton Rogue. Don't go to your aunt and uncle's."   
  
His eyes met mine again, and I could see the conflict waged within those beautiful black orbs. He protested weakly, "My...my mom..."  
  
"Fuck your mom!" I exclaimed with vehemence, releasing him and starting to pace back and forth. At the half-amused expression he regarded me with, I snapped, "Not literally, you perv. I mean, what the hell has she done for you? You said it yourself, she couldn't be bothered to sent you even /one/ letter, not once! Not even on your birthdays or Christmas!"  
  
"What does /that/ matter, Dean?" Fulton argued, I would bet mostly for the sake of argument than his actual desire to go. He followed me with his eyes as he said, "She needs me now. I'm her son; I should help her."  
  
"/I/ need you now." I retorted, "You're my boyfriend, shouldn't you stay with me...and the rest of your friends...and the foster parents that actually give a damn about you?" I sat down on my bed across from him and leaned forward, asking with desperation, "What am I gonna do without you?"  
  
"I guess..." He paused, shut his eyes, and sighed. "I guess you'll know what I felt like during first term."  
  
I stared at him. Part of me knew that he wasn't trying to be mean or nasty about it, but part of me was outraged that he'd take such a low blow. I replied sharply, "Well, I wasn't too happy about that either, Fulton. What the hell do you think I was doing, cruising Chicago's Upper East Side for chicks while you moped around here?"  
  
"I dunno," he said cuttingly, "were you?"  
  
"No!" I shouted--I didn't mean to shout, but suddenly I was and I couldn't stop, "Dammit, Fulton, what do you want? Do you want to make me just as fucking miserable as you were? What the hell good will that do? I'll tell you right now that it won't. God, I try to tell you that I /care,/ that other people here care about you, and you throw it in my face!"  
  
"So it'll suck for you here. It'll be just as bad for me there!" Fulton cried, rage plainly written on his face.  
  
"It doesn't have to! Stay here!" Even I could hear the edge of pleading in my voice, and that finally seemed to get through. Fulton burst into tears. Not loud sobs or angry wails, though; his defiant expression sort of crumpled and the tears started to run silently down his face. He gasped and his breath hitched, then he looked down and hid his face behind the fall of his hair.   
  
"Don't you see," he whispered harshly, "Don't you see that I /can't/ stay?"  
  
"Oh, Fult," I whispered contritely, "please, please don't cry." I embraced him tightly, one arm around his waist, my free hand pressed gently to the back of his head as I held him, swaying slightly from side to side. He snuffled, a noise that would have been comical under different circumstances, and hid his face against the side of my neck. "I shouldn't've...it was wrong..." I fumbled with the words for a minute, finally coming up with, "That stuff was mean to say."  
  
"It's okay," he mumbled, his lips wet and cool on my skin. "I understand."  
  
"Do you?" I asked softly, stroking his hair as a means to comfort us both. He shifted slightly, pulling away so that his voice was not muffled by how close his mouth was to my neck.   
  
"I want to stay, but I want to go. I have to help my mom. I couldn't before, and I've felt guilty about it ever since."  
  
"God, Fulton," I cried, my vision blurring with tears as I held him even more firmly to me, "you were a little kid! Just a little kid...you couldn't...there was no way..." Fiercely, I told him, "If anyone blames you for what happened to your mom, they're messed up."  
  
"I don't.../blame/ myself. My father was the one who hit her. I just wish...I wish I could have helped her then."  
  
I pulled back and we stared at each other for a long time. Both of us had tears running down our faces, and Fulton's eyes looked distinctly red and puffy. He managed to give me a wan smile. He sighed, "I'm so sorry, Dean."  
  
"Don't, Fulton, just..." I trailed off, and suddenly he had his arms around me, we had our arms around each other, and we were kissing. Kissing each other hard and desperate and fierce, because I knew he'd won the argument, because we both knew that he would have to leave. I felt his tongue probing at my lips and I let him in, sliding my own tongue against his, tasting him and exploring him like the experience of it were new and unknown. And with sudden overwhelming certainty, even though I'd had him so perfectly and completely just last night, I knew that I needed him. Needed him inside me, or to be inside him, to make love to him and know him all over again.   
  
Because, dammit, he was mine and I was his and he had to understand, to really understand, why I wanted to fight to keep him with me. This was so intense. It was so fucking intense, the way I felt about him, the way...the way that /everything/ was with him. Love, fights, our spur-of-the-moment wrestling matches, sex...  
  
"Want you," he gasped then, breaking away to catch his breath, and I was sold.  
  
~~End Part One~~ 


	2. DWAYNE Announcements, HoHos, and Guitar...

A/N: Hey, guys. Now, I don't know how it came about, but Dwayne and I have mostly reconciled our hate for each other. I think Fulton put in a good word for him while I was sleeping or something. (damn subliminal messages! ::smacks Fulton lightly:: How dare you? ::Fulton stares at Schiz appealingly:: Damn puppy-dog eyes...get me every time...C'mere you. ::gives Fulton a big kiss:: Uh-oh. ::runs away from jealousboyfriend!Portman::) Anyway, I'm gonna try to portray Dwayne in a more positive light. Go me.   
  
Sorry about the changing tenses. Present means that it's still the day after Dean's birthday, past means Dwayne's memory. I'll only do this when I have a memory sequence in the chapter. Otherwise, it'll be like the first chapter.  
  
****  
  
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Two"  
  
[DWAYNE COLE ROBERTSON]  
  
It's another one of those team meeting in the locker room, but this time it was Portman that called it. He and Fulton are sitting on one of the benches, and from where I'm standing I can tell that something's weighing real heavy on both of them. Not everybody is here yet, just the Bash Brothers, Adam, Luis, and me. It's lunchtime, but none of us have eaten yet. The others are probably gonna come in soon with their food.  
  
****  
  
It was our first day in Los Angeles for the Junior Goodwill Games, and I was in the dorm room I shared with Goldberg, Ken, and Luis, sitting at the desk writing a letter. It went:  
  
"Dear Mattie,  
  
"Hey, sis, how are you? How's Mom and Pop? Has the bay mare had her baby yet? If she has, tell me all about it.  
  
"Los Angeles is" I paused, trying to think of something I could say that wasn't too mean. I erased the beginning of the sentance and wrote, "I am excited for the games to start, but Los Angeles is a real big city, so it'll be interesting to look around. I got the feeling that I won't like it much, because I miss Austin and I miss all of you. And some of the people here, like the enforcer from Chicago, make me wish more people from my old team were here."  
  
"Don't get me wrong, now. I like Portman, he's an okay guy, but sometimes he scares me. He's got the look of someone who could rip a pig in two and not break a sweat, I tell you what." I chewed on the metal part of my pencil for a little while before I continued, "The Ducks, from Minnesota, have another big guy on their team. His name is Fulton Reed, and he's rooming with Portman.  
  
"Good thing it's him and not me. I couldn't sleep in the same room as Portman. It'd be like bedding down with a rattlesnake, you don't know if he'll bite you, and maybe you won't hear the rattle in time. Instead, I'm in one of the big rooms, with Greg Goldberg from the Ducks, Ken Wu from San Francisco, and Luis Mendoza from Miami. Luis already offered to help me get my Spanish right. He says I speak it like a gringo. I say that's the way we all speak it in the family.  
  
"You better be watching the Goodwill Games on TV! If you aren't, I'll be real upset with you. My next letter should have more stuff in it. I miss you all, I love you all, write back!  
  
"Yours Truly, Dwayne"  
  
After sealing the envelope and addressing it, I got out my guitar and started practicing the chords for "Heads Carolina, Tails California" by Jo Dee Messina. I was concentrating so hard on getting it right that I was real surprised that somebody said something to me.   
  
"Hey, you're pretty good."  
  
I jumped a mile. But I looked toward the door and it was the Minnesota guy, Fulton Reed, the one I'd wrote about in my letter. He smiled at me, and I smiled back.   
  
"Thanks," I said, "You wanna come in?" He did, sat down on Ken's bed near the chair, and I asked, "Do you play?"  
  
"No," he told me, "I just listen. What can you play?"  
  
"Um..." I went though the list of songs in my head, naming them off slowly, "'Brand New Man', 'Boot Scootin' Boogie', 'Fancy', 'We Are the Champions,' the beginning of 'We Will Rock You,' and--"  
  
"You were just doing that 'Heads Carolina' song, right?" Fulton interrupted me. I stared at him for a moment.   
  
"How'd you know?"  
  
"Don't tell anyone, but I love country music."  
  
****  
  
Shoot. Wonder why I remembered that all of a sudden. We were friendly to each other at the Goodwill Games...I even taught Fulton a song or two on the guitar. I didn't have any problem with him then.  
  
I look at him, murmuring softly to Portman--who, despite the fact that I've known him for about two years, still scares me a little--and it occurs to me that he hasn't changed at all. He's still Fulton. Maybe that's the point that Luis was trying to make.   
  
Goldberg, Russ, and Ken run into the locker room, and I put aside my thoughts. Russ throws a package of Hostess Sno Balls at me, and I catch it.   
  
"Thanks, y'all." I tell them, tearing open the plastic wrapper.  
  
"We come bearing Ho-Hos and other assorted snacks!" Goldberg announced.  
  
"The rest of the team is coming. But we were the only ones who thought you might be hungry." Ken says, puffing out his chest and trying very hard to look heroic. Russ bops him on the head with a Twinkie; it breaks and oozes cream filling all over Ken's hair.   
  
Luis and Adam are falling against each other, that's how hard they're laughing. Even Portman and Fulton are chuckling. I shrug and stuff a Sno Ball into my mouth. I am starved.  
  
****  
  
"Oh, God, again?" Averman groans as he sees Fulton and Portman. "You're already out of the closet, what the hell else can you confess, that you're serial killers?"  
  
"It's not a confession, dingbat, it's an announcement," Adam snaps.  
  
Averman rolls his eyes, "Bite me, Cakey."  
  
"Guys, please," Fulton says softly. He sounds very sad, and everyone shuts up and pays attention. "I gotta tell you...my mom's in Baton Rouge, and my uncle wants me to come down and help take care of her. I'm gonna talk to Dean Buckley about transferring for the rest of the school year."  
  
"What?" Charlie yells. Fulton flinches and Charlie begins to sputter, "You can't...you won't..."  
  
"Shut up, Spazway," Goldberg snaps. He turns to Fulton and asks, "What about your mom?"  
  
So Fulton tells us. His mother is a heavy drug-user, and she ran away from a treatment center, so he has to go to Louisiana to convince her to go back. If you ask me, it all sounds really stupid. Fulton shouldn't have to go and take care of her, ain't she an adult? So I speak up.  
  
"You shouldn't waste your time." I say from my spot near the back of the group. Everyone turns to look at me. "My family had to deal with somethin' like it...one of my cousins. The family was makin' sacrifices for /years,/ doing everything they could to help him, and he wouldn't have any of it. Just kept stealin' and doin' drugs and all that shit. 'Ventually, my uncle cut him off, and last I heard he's still using."  
  
Fulton's voice trembles slightly, and I can see that what I've said made him angry. "My mother is not your cousin."  
  
"I know," I cross my arms self-consciously. "I'm just warnin' you...you don't wanna expect too much."  
  
I hear Connie mutter, "Talk about insensitive..." The others seem angry with me, too. I shrug and leave the room. I didn't mean any harm by it.  
  
~~End Part Two~~ 


	3. FULTON Departures, Reunions, and Introd...

A/N: You don't like the fact that I made Dwayne a good guy? Well, bite me. (Particularly this one spot, right below my ear...ooh, that's nice..) I never really made him a bad guy...just the dumb, easily molded guy. So, you'll just have to live with it. And I'll explain Fulton's secret love of country music in later chapters.  
  
****  
  
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Three"  
  
[FULTON GARRETT REED]  
  
I sat alone in the dorm room, surrounded by Dean's things; most of mine were sitting in packing boxes at Uncle Bobby's house, and what was left was in the suitcase at my feet. Kyle and Lorraine had arranged something with the courts that let me stay in Louisiana for four months without them losing the right to be my foster parents. I didn't really care. They also, once again, brought up the idea of adoption. I was touched, but being sixteen going on seventeen--damned 'Sound of Music' song, get out of my head!--I really didn't see the point. Phoebe told me once that the Greens asked her if she wanted to be adopted...I think they do that with all their long-term foster kids.   
  
Robby Moreau offered to drive me to the airport after school. Actually, I think that Connie asked him to. She would.   
  
The door opens and Dean walks in. "Surprised?" I ask him softly.   
  
"I thought you'd be gone already."  
  
I shake my head. "Come with me, to the airport. Please?"  
  
He smiles. "Of course. Let's go, hon."  
  
****  
  
The ride to the airport was a silent one. Robby just drove, and Dean and I just sat in the backseat. Dean reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. I looked over at him and he smiled supportively. 'Stop being so wonderful!' I wanted to tell him, 'You're making this a million times more difficult than it should be!'  
  
Well, he'd had more than a week to get used to the idea. Granted, we spent a lot of time yelling at each other because he wouldn't stop asking me to reconsider for the first few days, but still...I was adamant. And so he'd told me Wednesday, "It's important to you. So I won't fight it. But goddamned if I won't miss you, Fulton. I love you." And I'd cried. I know it doesn't sound much like something I'd do, and believe me, it's not; Dean has this way of pulling all my emotions into the open. I think I might go crazy without him.  
  
****  
  
"Call me when you get in," Dean whispered as he hugged me tightly, "and write me tons of letters. I want to know everything you do there."  
  
I laughed. "Dear Dean," I said jokingly, "I got up at seven o'clock and took a shower. Then Aunt Louise made what she calls breakfast and what I call a nuclear disaster. I fed the dog the bacon. Uncle Bobby bored me to death by talking about my cousin Cade. My mom looks like shit. The kids at school hate me. Next week, I'll be on the run from a mass murder charge; the preppies must die."  
  
That earned me another smile. "Okay, not everything. Just write about that shower in excruciating detail."  
  
"Pervert," I muttered, rising on my toes in order to give him a brief kiss. Robby cleared his throat behind us.   
  
"Not to break up this lovely GLAAD moment, Fulton, but isn't your flight leaving in, like, soon? You still have to get though the metal detectors and find your gate."  
  
"Right," I said, picking up my suitcase. It was small enough to be considered a carry on, so that was one less hassle. "Thanks for driving me, Robby."  
  
"Don't mention it," he said. "Have a nice flight."  
  
I checked my watch. "Crap. Fifteen minutes, gotta run. I love you, Dean!"   
  
I was running toward the security checkpoint when I heard Dean yell, "Please don't do anything illegal, you look horrible in orange!"  
  
****  
  
A few hours later, I was standing around the airport terminal, looking for the Hamptons. They saw me before I saw them, and I heard them before I saw them.   
  
"Fulton!" My Aunt Louise cried. I just barely hid my wince of pain. I forgot how awful she sounds when she gets loud. She's a chain-smoker, so her voice is harsh and gravelly at the best of times, like nails on a chalkboard at the worst. She reached up and grabbed my face; her acrylic talons grazed my cheek and scratched lightly. "Ohh..." she said, "You look wonderful! So tall, too, look at him, Bobby..." Releasing me, Aunt Louise turned to her husband, who eyed me critically and hitched up his jeans.  
  
"Yep," he muttered, "'Bout tall as Cade, I'd guess. How was the flight?"  
  
"Fine," I told him. Aunt Louise was nattering on about we should go to the car, she'll be making a pot roast for dinner doesn't that sound nice, and assorted other forms of bullshit that she was required to talk about but we were not required to respond to. We began heading for the doors. I glanced around apprehensively, "Cade here?"  
  
"Nope, he's with his girlfriend," Uncle Bobby informed me. I sighed with relief--Cade and I get along like a cobra and a mongoose, meaning, we do our level best to kill or at least maim each other on a regular basis--but Uncle Bobby took it for a sigh of regret. "Well, he's around her a lot. He's excited that you're staying with us."  
  
'Excited that he has someone to torture,' I thought darkly.   
  
"Oh, yes, Ellie Sampson!" Aunt Louise exclaimed, "Cade's girl; you'll be meeting her soon, I do believe that he's bringing her to dinner..."  
  
"How's Mom?" I asked as we approached the car. Aunt Louise fell silent and glanced at Uncle Bobby. I looked at him, too. He seemed to be considering his answer very carefully. He unlocked the car and popped the trunk. I set my suitcase in the trunk and slammed the lid.   
  
"She's doing better." He told me finally. Aunt Louise relaxed and climed into the passenger seat. Uncle Bobby didn't move, and neither did I. He continued, "The doctor has her on a methadone program, but I think that she needs real treatment. The family's saved up enough money to send her to a clinic, but we ain't gonna do it 'less we know she's gonna stay."  
  
"Guess that's my mission," I replied softly. He grinned.   
  
"Guess so."  
  
****  
  
We pulled into the driveway. Aunt Louise and Uncle Bobby have a really nice house, one of the better ones in the neighborhood. As we were getting out of the car, I heard the front door slam.   
  
A very quiet voice said from the porch steps, "Oh, my God, is that my baby boy?" and I turned around to see my mother for the first time in eight years. She had barely changed, maybe she was a little thinner, and her hair was going gray now, but she was basically the same person. Pale as paper, skinny as a rail, with a round face hidden behind wild brown hair. Her brown eyes looked too big for her face, brimming with tears and wide with surprise. She stood on the porch in her stocking-feet, wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt several sizes too large for her that read 'Istrouma High School'--Cade's, probably--on it.   
  
I swallowed hard to dislodge the lump that chose that moment to stick itself in my throat. "Hi, Mom."   
  
"Oh, Fulton!" she cried, running to me and nearly crushing my waist in a hug. She started to cry, babbling, "I missed you, baby, I'm so sorry, I never wanted them to take you away, oh, Fulton, can you ever forgive me?"  
  
"I-it's okay, Mom," I managed to say. Really, I had no idea how to react to this. "I'm fine, it's okay. Don't be sorry."  
  
"Patricia Lee," Uncle Bobby said gently, "let's go inside, all right? The boy's had a long day, and I'm sure he'd like to have a sit-down talk with you."  
  
Mom sniffed loudly. She looked at her brother, then at me. Wiping her eyes, she mumbled, "Oh, honey, I got your shirt all wet."   
  
I wanted to laugh. If Dean were here, he'd say that she sounded like me. But Dean wasn't here...  
  
Damn. Fucking mood swings.  
  
"Uncle Bobby, can I use the phone?"  
  
****  
  
I lay in the guest room, now officially my room, that night and stared at the ceiling. Aunt Louise hadn't unpacked my things; she said that she found it awful rude to do something like that, and I appreciated that. Dinner had been relatively uneventful, except for Mom accidentally spilling her water glass on Cade's lap.   
  
He jumped up and got halfway through a curse word before both Aunt Louise and Uncle Bobby told him to be quiet and go change his clothes. His girlfriend, Ellie, giggled to herself as Mom apologized profusely and Cade went upstairs, grumbling to himself. I concentrated extra hard on staring at my potatoes and /not/ laughing at Cade.   
  
Ellie had introduced herself to me, sticking out her hand and saying, "Hi, I'm Cade's girlfriend, Ellie. Eloise, proper, but nobody 'ceptin' my gram calls me that." She was a slender girl with gold-brown hair and eyes, dressed all in pink. I eyed her warily as I shook her hand. She had all the looks of a spoiled prep; the perfect girl for my brat-bastard of a cousin.   
  
Cade is a junior at Istrouma High, the school I'll be going to on Monday. So is Ellie. Cade plays football, for the Varsity team. He looks somewhat like me, tall and pale with black hair and dark eyes. But he's a lot more muscular than I am, and he has this annoying way of wearing his hair...it's mostly short but he has this goofy-looking long piece of hair that he styles over to one side of his head; I guess he thinks that it looks polished and cool. Between him, Luis, and Dean, the world is going to run out of hair gel by the year 2000.   
  
I told my uncle and my mom about Dean and let them both talk to him. Neither of them seem very bothered by it; in fact, I heard Uncle Bobby muttering calculations about how much the family would save by not having to buy my non-existant children anything. Whatever. [1]  
  
Right now, all I cared about was the fact that I was alone in my room.   
  
Without Dean.  
  
~~End Part Three~~  
  
[1] Teensy homage to the "Queertet" series. I love you, Vic and Star! 


	4. PORTMAN Schoolwork, 'Howl,' Pillows, Le...

Feedback: Because I have nothing really witty to say.  
  
scootergirl-- He appreciates your sympathy. ::pats Fulton on the head:: ^_~  
  
kellyerielf-- Gracias y de nada. Cheeky girl...I'm sorry for making you miserable, but I'll have to keep doing it for a while. ::sigh:: Yes indeed, W00t to Lollapalooza.  
  
QteCuttlfish-- Yes, this fic is extremely painful. Hope this next part doesn't disappoint.  
  
LB-- Thank you for your kind words.  
  
lycanthrope-- I figured that I should break away from tradition and make Dean's coming out the horrible one. (You can tell that I have plans for Ellie because I TOLD you the plan....) And yes, Cade + angry Dean = happy readers? Anyway, to answer your question, Fulton was in contact with them, usually at the family reunions only, but this is basically the first time he's spent a significant amount of time with them. I try to make my people...peopley and not stereotypical, so it's nice of you to notice. Hell, it's nice to hear most anything from you, Wolfie.  
  
Cake Eater-- ^^;;; I knew that the orange jumpsuits came from somewhere...and of course it would be you, you Zigzag-fangirl, who would catch it as "Holes"-originated. Actually, go right ahead and think Uncle Bobby = Mr. Sir sans hat. It works. Connecting with Fulton is FUN! Qumiby, you're the best...I love your random reviews, so don't change a thing!  
  
Xixie-- Well, in this chapter you'll see. Yes, Fulton has "skills." He is skilled in many things...ask Dean. ^__^  
  
****  
  
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Four"  
  
[DEAN AARON PORTMAN]  
  
Despite Fulton's phone call last night, I went to bed miserable and woke up this morning equally miserable; maybe even more, because sometimes he'll crawl into bed with me in the middle of the night and I wake up pressed to the wall with his arms around me. And this morning I woke up to 'The Sorcerer's Apprentice' music from my brand-new alarm clock and remembered that he wasn't at Eden Hall anymore.   
  
I swear, if Dean Buckley tries to force another roommate on me this late in the school year, /I'm/ gonna be the one on the run from a murder charge.  
  
****  
  
If anyone ever asks, I'll tell them I wasn't in my right mind that Monday. I was so desperate to stop thinking about Fulton that I threw myself into my schoolwork. I think that I almost gave the algebra teacher a heart attack when I raised my hand in class and asked for help.   
  
Actually, the work they were giving us wasn't as horrible as usual. Either the universe was trying to make it up to me for moving my boyfriend a million miles away from me, or someone had tainted the coffee in the teachers' lounge with some kind of sedative, making the demonic teaching staff act almost human. Mr. Slattery, the American Lit teacher, assigned us each a writer from the Beat Generation--Allen Ginsberg for me--which matched up pretty well with the fact that we're moving from the 1950s to the 1960s in History class. And I also got a non-speaking part--it mostly involves dancing--for the school's production of 'Grease.' Averman got cast as Putzie, which had /him/ bouncing off the walls at lunch.  
  
After school, I picked up 'Howl and Other Poems' from the school library, and a six-pack from the Circle K down the street with my fake ID. Then I went to the park and sat under a tree, drinking and slogging through the first part of 'Howl' with only a little success. It wasn't that I didn't like the poem; it's just that the thing is so damned long!   
  
'I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,/  
  
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,/  
  
angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,/  
  
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,/  
  
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,/  
  
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucination Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,/  
  
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,'  
  
That's the first seven lines, and it takes up the whole small page. When I finished that and the page after, I flipped ahead to the end of part one. Did you know that the entire 78 lines of that is a single sentence? It also gets pretty risqué, and some book that I read said Ginsberg had to defend his poem against a charge of obscenity. Which I think is kinda funny, looking at the seventh line.   
  
Besides the fact that 'Howl' is huge, I was missing Fulton. Every so often, a line would confuse me and I'd look up, ready to ask Fulton for help, but he wasn't there. It was getting dark by the time I gathered up my empty cans and dumped them in the trash, bookmarked my spot with the receipt, and got up to head back to the dorm.   
  
****  
  
That night, I stole one of the pillows from Fulton's bed and slept with it next to me, simply because it still smelled like him.   
  
****  
  
On Tuesday, I got my first letter from him. I added it to the stack of letters from earlier in the school year.   
  
"Dear Dean,  
  
I miss you, I miss you, I miss you."   
  
I hate it here. All Uncle Bobby talks about is my cousin, Cade. Cade is this big dumb jock. He plays Varsity football for Istrouma High, which is where I'm going, too. Istrouma is a parish school, and even worse than Eden Hall. No, there aren't any crazy nuns running around beating kids with rulers, but the kids are horrible. They make the people at Eden Hall seem almost human."  
  
My mom is just like I remember: that is, she pretty much ignores me and everything else. She sits around the house and stares off into space, or she watches TV, or she listens to Uncle Bobby's vinyls--most of which are really old country albums that I remember from when I was little."  
  
How am I supposed to help her when she barely even talks to me? Another weird thing, no one is saying what happened to my dad. Not that I care; he could fall off the planet and get turned inside out and compressed into a piece of space trash, I wouldn't feel a bit sad for him. But I think it has something to do with my mom. Either they got divorced or...something else."  
  
Just for your information: Cade is a complete bastard. I told my mom and Uncle Bobby about you and me, and neither of them cared. Aunt Louise is ecstatic; she even wants me to help her redecorate the house...but I think she's buying into the stereotypes a little too much. Anyway, Cade. He's going on about the whole thing, talking with a lisp and flapping his hands around all limp-wristed making fun of me. He keeps this up and he's gonna have a pair of shiners to scare his brainless preppy girlfriend off. Then I'm going to break his legs and dump him in the bayou and watch the alligators rip him to pieces."  
  
I miss you so badly. I keep dreaming of you, missing you, wanting you here with me. If I could even just...hold you...for a little while, I'd feel better. I never thought that I could love someone as much as I love you, but I do. I do, I love you so much that it hurts like I'm being torn apart."  
  
Yours always,   
  
Fulton"  
  
****  
  
"Fulton,  
  
I love you. I miss you. I need you."  
  
I really don't think that it could get worse than Eden Hall outside of military academy, but I'll take your word for it, honey. What exactly is so bad about the kids there? Let me know, because if it's really awful, I'll come down and help you get rid of them."  
  
Don't throw your cousin to the alligators. I want to be the one to rip him to pieces. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, will get away with teasing you like that while I have a mode of transportation to get down there and slaughter them with you. Just say the word."  
  
Fulton, don't be too shocked, but I'm actually doing some schoolwork and I need your help. Well, the last bit shouldn't surprise you. But still, I have to read books by and about Allen Ginsberg for American Lit and write a report. Could you read "Howl and Other Poems" and tell me what these mean?"  
  
'Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus,' 'Moloch,' 'Golgotha,' the significance of Denver, and why the line that begins 'when mother finally ******' has those asterisks there."  
  
Also, read "Song" and know that I thought of you."  
  
Missing you just as much,"  
  
Dean"  
  
~~End Part Four~~ 


	5. GUY and JULIE Shirts, Horrible Dates, C...

A/N: Before you start asking, yes, I gave a couple of the Ducks a middle name if they didn't already have one...and a lot of them are weird. This chapter has switching perspectives. Oh, lord, does it!  
  
Just pushing the 'Guy and Connie break-up' storyline a little further, as well as tweaking with the 'Julie is the villain' theme. No Bash Brothers this time...no Bashie-love, Bashie-sadness, or Bashie-torment--or any other kind of Bashie-ness. However, the Big Whammy (tm) is coming in Chapter Six. ::cue the forboding music::  
  
****  
  
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Five" AKA The EVIL Chapter--Redux  
  
[GUY WITOLD GERMAINE]  
  
"You're going on a date?" Greg asked me.   
  
I emerged from my half of the closet with about five shirts hanging all over me, but not actually wearing one. I glared at my roommate and snapped, "Don't sound so surprised."  
  
"But...but...you /just/ broke up with Connie!"  
  
"Almost two months ago, Goldberg." I corrected him. "Live in the now!" I let him sputter incoherently behind me for a few minutes as I held up each shirt for inspection. 'The orange one makes me look pasty, the Hard Rock Cafe tee has a hole in it...hey, is that mustard on my World Wildlife Foundation T-shirt?' I tossed the rejected shirts onto my bed.   
  
'It's between the black tee with the witty saying, or the dark green button-up plaid over my white tank.' As I continued to stare critically at my shirts, Greg found his voice again.   
  
"Why?"  
  
"So that I can put in my journal: 'Friday, April 19th. Dear Diary: Today, I finally got a life.' I've always wanted to do that..." I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Greg was unamused. I sighed and explained, "Marcus is a friend of mine from Earth Club. He got a date with this girl Anita Benedict, for the local bands concert tonight, downtown. And Anita's roommate doesn't have a date, so Marcus suggested that he and Anita double-date with me and the roommate. It's just one date, and I'm only going 'cause I feel sorry for the girl."  
  
Definitely the black tee.   
  
****  
  
I met Marcus in the lobby of the dorm. He smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up. "Good luck, man."   
  
"Thanks. So, where are we gonna meet the girls?"  
  
"Out in the quad. We're taking my car," Marcus explained. We walked to the door and he commented, "By the way, nice shirt."  
  
I glanced down at my shirt again. It read in, in medium-sized white capital letters, 'I'm just one big *#@*!ing ray of sunshine, aren't I?!' I grinned at Marcus and shrugged. "I'm feeling a bit dark today."  
  
"Obviously," he laughed. As we entered the quad, he said, "Look, there she is! The redhead wearing the green top, that's Anita." I looked around for a redheaded girl wearing a green top. When I located her, my heart stopped. Marcus continued, "And that girl next to her is your date."  
  
The girl next to Anita Benedict was Julie Gaffney. In fact, the only girl within reasonable proximity of her was Julie Gaffney. My stomach promptly tied itself into a complicated knot, and my heart decided to go visit my toes. "Dammit," I hissed.  
  
This date was going to suck like a Hoover.  
  
****  
  
[JULIE KATHERINE GAFFNEY]  
  
My first thought upon seeing Guy heading over to us was, 'Oh, shit. This is uncomfortable.'  
  
Anita was clueless. "Um, Julie, this is Marcus. And this is Marcus's friend, Guy."  
  
"We already know each other," Guy said sullenly.  
  
"From the JV team." I explained to her. She gave me a look.  
  
"I don't watch hockey," she reminded me. I sighed. Just my luck to get the one girl who despises hockey as a roommate. And just my luck again to have to go on a date with Guy Germaine.   
  
I didn't seriously mean those things I'd said to Connie after I heard that she and Guy had broken up. I was hurt that she hadn't taken my side when Fulton and Portman came out...I decided that if she'd rather be friends with a pair of fairies, that we would have to be enemies. I thought that she was a good friend, really I did, but honestly? I find her support of those abnormal people just disgusting.  
  
Neither Guy nor I said a word as we followed Marcus and Anita to the car.  
  
****  
  
[GUY WITOLD GERMAINE]  
  
'I am going to be a perfect gentlemen. I am not going to slam the door in her face, or step on her feet when the dancing starts, or anything like that.' This was my mantra. I had to keep repeating it, or I would probably have shoved Julie out of the moving Volvo. Preferrably over the side of an overpass, too.   
  
Connie and I might not have been going out, but we still talked. And she told me about the things that Julie said. Part of me knows that she was just trying to get to Connie--and believe me, she did--but another part of me is furious. How dare she say those things? Not just about me, but about Fulton, and about Dean? She doesn't have any right to judge them for the way that they are.   
  
We made it to the waterfront before I could be tempted to strangle her.  
  
****  
  
Anita and Marcus went right up to the stage as one of the local bands started to play. Julie and I hung back, eventually retreating to a relatively people-free area of the grass, just to sit in an uncomfortable silence. Julie began pulling up stems of clover and weaving them like a daisy chain. I lay on my back and looked up at the cloudy night sky.   
  
I don't know how long this went on. But Julie eventually spoke first. "I know this isn't your idea of a good date, Guy."  
  
"Really? What clued you in?" I shot back sarcastically.  
  
"Oh, jeez, I dunno...the murderous way you look at me?" She replied just as caustically.   
  
"Fuck off and die, Catwoman."  
  
Julie sneered, "Ooh, the boy's gotta mouth on him."  
  
I sat up. "Ooh, the bitch has a mouth on her," I mocked.  
  
"You think that cussing me out makes you sound all macho, don't you?"  
  
"No," I said truthfully, "You /are/ a bitch. And I wish you /would/ fuck off and die. You're malicious and spiteful and you treat people like dirt if they disagree with your illusion of the world."  
  
She looked stunned. "Does the rest of the team think like that?"  
  
"I don't know. We avoid talking about you. But I know that Kenny and Adam and Connie feel that way." I told her. I took a breath to steady myself and said, "That was some really fucked-up shit you said to Connie after me and her broke up."  
  
"I'm sorry."   
  
It was my turn to look surprised. "What?"  
  
Julie, who had been staring into her lap ever since I called her malicious and spiteful, met my eyes again. Her expression was one of hurt and guilt. "I'm sorry for saying all those things about you. It was stupid."  
  
"What about--" Before I could finish, she cut me off.   
  
"No. Just don't even talk about them. I'm not sorry and I never will be. I believe what I believe, and nothing's going to change that."  
  
"I'm sorry you feel that way." I stood up and brushed loose bits of grass from my jeans. "I'm gonna get a soda, you want something?"  
  
****  
  
[JULIE KATHERINE GAFFNEY]  
  
I had been talking to my parents about moving back to Bangor and finishing high school there. They were supporting my decision, but part of me had held out for the chance that maybe, just maybe, some of the Ducks would see things my way or at least understand where I was coming from. And when Guy told me point-blank that he basically hated me, I knew that I would never be welcome among them again.  
  
I was glad. Maybe this would give me a chance to repair the firendships that I had left behind in Maine. I seemed to have this uncanny talent of screwing up people's lives.  
  
****  
  
[GUY WITOLD GERMAINE]  
  
Marcus pulled into the student parking lot of Eden Hall, and Julie and I bolted from opposite sides of the car. I hit the drivers' side window and yelled, "Never do that to me again!" before I stormed away. Julie shot me this wounded look and ran to her dorm.   
  
I ignored her.   
  
****  
  
[JULIE KATHERINE GAFFNEY]  
  
"Why do they hate me so much?" I whispered to my reflection as I rubbed a makeup-remover cloth over my face. "Am I so awful...?"  
  
The rest of the team had always said 'Ducks fly together,' and I had really wanted to believe that. But maybe...maybe this thing about Fulton and Portman was a test, you know, like a test of faith. Or friendship. Not that they would lie about something like that to trick us...maybe it was something from God, something I was supposed to learn from. Or proof, maybe, that I wasn't really a Duck and that I should fly away before I wasted time and effort trying to get back friends who didn't trust me anymore.  
  
When I came back to Bangor from the Goodwill Games, none of my friends there treated me any different. Paul, the team captain, congratulated me on The Save (saying it in a way that I /heard/ the capital letters), but he was disappointed that I hadn't got more play than in the final shootout. And Toph was still pissed--never mind the fact that I'd gotten an angry phone call /and/ an angry letter from him while in L.A.--that I'd managed to get kicked out of the first game against Iceland. I wasn't some 'great and powerful Oz' type for them to be in awe of. I was just Julie, the goalie.   
  
And I miss that. Being just Julie. Because here, in Minnesota, at Eden Hall, I'm 'Julie the Cat.' As if I was someone really special and important. Better than the others.   
  
So maybe that went to my head. Maybe I started thinking that I /was/ better than the rest of the Ducks. And I don't like that thought.   
  
It's time to go back to being me.  
  
~~End Part Five~~  
  
A/N: Something Star said in the group really got to me. She talked about how she hated Adam, but she never presented him as being a horrible, hateable person in her fanfics. I think that I have done this to Julie (whom, it is no secret, I harbor my own seething hatreds against) in "Might as Well" and "Combat Boots and Clover."  
  
And so, because Julie has fulfilled her role as the villain of the piece of the story--to be replaced by, to name a few, Cade Hampton and (surprise!) Patty Reed--I gave her about half a chapter. This was my chance to reason out why she acted the way she had. Plus, I want to get rid of her. I still hate Julie, and now I don't have to deal with her. Yay! 


	6. PORTMAN Out of the Closet, Into the Fire

A/N: Well, you guys asked for it. One heapin' helpin' of Portman-angst, coming your way! And, surprise surprise, it's actually a big update! Well, not as big as 'Unforgiven V', which was 19 KB, but pretty close.  
  
Major homages to lycanthrope...damn you Katie, why must you think up such quirky little catchphrases?!  
  
****  
  
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Six"  
  
[DEAN AARON PORTMAN]  
  
"Dean, is something wrong?" my mom asked. I sighed and shifted my shoulder so that it pressed the reciever to my ear. Yesterday, I had decided that it was time to tell my parents the truth about Fulton and me. Yesterday, it had seemed a lot more simple, too.  
  
"Mom, could...could you get Dad to pick up the other line, please?" I requested quietly. She must have noticed that something was wrong in my voice, because I heard her cover the phone and a muffled mumbling that must have been her passing the instructions onto Dad; the tell-tale click that he had turned on the other cordless phone sounded soon after.   
  
"Is there some kind of problem, Dean?" Dad asked immediately.   
  
"No, no. It's not...a problem, really." I swallowed hard, trying to gather my courage for the task. Me, big Dean Portman, enforcer extraordinaire, I who have faced down guys strong enough to check me straight through the boards without flinching...I was scared to say one simple sentence. I was scared to be honest to my parents.   
  
As my silence wore on just a little too long, Mom said, almost automatically, "You know that you can tell us anything."  
  
Heh, Fulton had said almost the exact same thing when he confronted me--back when I was being dumb as a rock and avoiding him because I had fallen in love with him--and truthfully, I didn't believe it when Mom said it. I could tell Fulton anything...but my parents? I wasn't very sure that I could tell them my grades without them freaking out on me, so I was practically positive that they would freak out about this.  
  
"I...I dunno how you'll...I mean, I dunno if you're gonna like what I have to say," I mumbled, stalling for time. 'Say it, come /on./ Get it out, deal with how they react when they react!' I took a deep breath.  
  
"Just tell us, son." Dad encouraged.   
  
I told it quickly. "I just wanted you to know that Fulton and I are dating. That we're boyfriends." Utter silence on the line. I chewed my lower lip, finally finishing with, "That, um...that I'm gay."  
  
Neither of them responded for a long time. I glanced around the dorm lobby; it was still deserted, except for the supervisor in the desk across the room.   
  
Dad spoke first. His voice was deadly soft, clear and strained. "What did you say?"  
  
It was easier the second time around. "I'm gay; I have a boyfriend; his name is Fulton Reed." I paused. "You know Fulton, the guy who's called the house on my birthdays for the past two years?"  
  
"I know who you're talking about," Mom murmured. She sounded a little like she was in shock. I had, after all, had a few girlfriends before coming to Minnesota to go to school. And then I turn around and tell her that I have a /boyfriend;/ well, let's just say that I was expecting surprise, at the very least. "I didn't...I couldn't..." She laughed suddenly, a high-pitched, nervous sound. "I had no idea that he was a homosexual!"  
  
"Er, neither did we...until earlier this year."  
  
Dad was still using that crazy-sounding, strained whisper-voice as he choked out, "How long?"  
  
'That could be taken several ways,' I thought, raising an eyebrow. Aloud, I said, "Excuse me?"  
  
"How long have you been...like this?"  
  
That question had no real answer. But I decided to settle for telling him when I confessed my feelings for Fulton, when we began our semi-official role as the poster boys for the Eden Hall gay community (population: out of closet, two; in closet, unknown). "Two, three months at least."  
  
"And you didn't say anything?" Mom demanded.   
  
"Sharon, calm down," Dad instructed her sternly. To me, he growled, "We'll call you back."  
  
There was a loud click as he hung up--or rather, slammed down--the phone. Mom stayed on only long enough to mutter, "Goodbye, Dean," and then she hung up as well.   
  
****  
  
Back in the room, I sat on my bed and stared at the carpeting for a while. "It could have been worse," I told myself aloud. "They could have started screaming at me. Now, they'll scream at each other for a while, and then come back and have a calm, controlled blow-up at me instead." It always worked that way.  
  
I reached over and grabbed Fulton's pillow, holding it securely to my chest and hiding my face in its softness, inhaling the slowly fading fragrance of his soap and his scent--pure, clean, and warm; comfortingly male and familiar. Right now, I needed him so badly it was like a deep, physical ache everywhere in my body. I just felt persistently empty, lonely, and sad.  
  
But I smiled as I sat there, thinking about him. Remembering how he would always wake me up--'too fucking early', I constantly told him, but he never took the hint--how we would wrestle until mutually giving up and just making out, how he would tease me and I would tease him right back, how he would laugh...  
  
I needed some cheering up. I set aside Fulton's pillow and got on my knees to study my collection of tapes and CDs, starting from the middle and working to the end. Pink Floyd, Nirvana, Mudhoney, Mettalica, the Meat Puppets, Led Zeppelin...skip a bit...Guns 'n' Roses, Def Leppard, the Clash, Alice in Chains, Aerosmith, AC-DC...  
  
Yeah, I arrange my music in reverse to the alphabet. Zs first, As last. Got a problem with that?  
  
I popped Def Leppard's 'Hysteria' in my stereo and waited for the worst.  
  
****  
  
Instead of the worst, the best came in the mail that afternoon. A letter from Fulton:  
  
"Dear Love Muffin,  
  
"School is paralytically boring, as usual. I flipped through the textbooks on the first day of school and realized that I already know most of the stuff that they're teaching us...  
  
"Cade is still rating high on my 'damn-I-wish-I-could-beat-you-up' scale. But he seems to be spreading the joy of his attentions around...he splits his bastardness fairly evenly between me and this other kid, Mac Perry.  
  
"Mac is this skinny dude with long brown hair; in fact, I thought he was a girl the first time I saw him in Chemistry class. The opinion of the majority at Istrouma is that he's gay, but I am witholding judgment at the moment.  
  
"Mom managed to come out of her withdrawal trance long enough for us to have a conversation. Mostly about you, hockey, you, school, music, and...you. I miss you so much, Dean.  
  
"However, a good thing came out of that mother/son talk. Mom and Aunt Louise went and bought me a guitar and a Crate BV150HB amp. Okay, so the guitar is a secondhand bass guitar and it looks like crap, and hardly sounds any better...but it's the thought that matters.  
  
"I hope you got my letter answering your questions . And I did read 'Song.' You're sweet.  
  
"I love you, Dean.  
  
-Fulton"  
  
****  
  
I wrote him back and sent it off immediately.  
  
"Dear Fulton,  
  
"'Love Muffin'?!  
  
"You're getting weirder, hon. Have you been accepting pills from mysterious strangers? Or dropping more acid lately? If not, you better have a real good reason for calling me Love Muffin.  
  
"Yes, I got your letter about 'Howl.' You're a godsend. I forgot to mention last time that I got a part as an extra in the school's production of 'Grease.' And Averman is playing Putzie. I'm sure that we'll have plenty of pictures and embarrassing stories (more of the last, I'll bet) for you when it's over.  
  
"Earlier today, I called my parents and came out to them. While they weren't yelling and threatening to disown me, they both seemed sorta shocked. Dad said they'd call me back, but they haven't yet. I'm not looking forward to when they do.  
  
"Interesting bit of news: Russ says that Julie was talking to their Speech and Debate teacher about writing a reference to get her into Debate for some school in Maine. Could it be that the scourge of our time at Eden Hall won't be returning for sophmore year? Let's hope so!  
  
"Bass guitar, huh? Going to go all serious and artsy on me, Teddy Bear? (Hey, if you give me a dumb nickname, I give you one.) If so, I'll just have to corrupt you back to your old self when you come home...  
  
"Think that Kyle and Lorraine would put up with me living at their house if my parents DO kick me out?  
  
"Yours and yours alone,  
  
Dean the Love Muffin"  
  
****  
  
The next letter from Fulton came two days later. My parents still hadn't called, and I was starting to get a little worried. What if they had started fighting, I mean really fighting? Maybe they had hurt each other, and it was my fault...  
  
"Dear Dean the Love Muffin,  
  
"Be glad that I'm not calling you 'sugar,' like Cade's cotton-candy-doll girlfriend Ellie does to him. Or 'princess,' like Cade calls Ellie. But if you really want to know, you are 'love muffin' because it's horribly embarrassing, very sweet, and rather cute. All of which you can be at times.  
  
"I'm sorry to hear about your parents. They don't deserve a son like you anyhow; you're too damn good for the likes of them! Don't ever think it's your fault that they are acting like this. It's all on them. I'll talk to Kyle; I'm sure that he'll say yes, but they'll probably need rent from you.  
  
"The Gibson (my crappy guitar) and I are fighting today. It refuses to stay properly tuned for more than a minute. Hopefully all it needs are some new strings, 'cause I don't make enough working at Uncle Bobby's garage to buy a whole new instrument. Serious and artsy? Please, more like fuckin' around and being pissed off.  
  
"I have to tell you, Dean, it is such a relief to get out of the damned house and go somewhere other than school. I feel like I'm back in the fifth fucking grade. People go out of their way to avoid me, like I'm some big scary criminal or something. Sort of, 'Look out, it's a freakin' Neanderthal (although I'd be surprised if they really know what a Neanderthal is...),' or they treat me like I'm some idiot; just because I could break most of them into itty bitty pieces MUST mean that my brain doesn't work. I'm sure you understand. The only entertaining thing to do there is bait my Calculus teacher, Ms. DeMarco. I think I set an Istrouma record: eleven detentions from one teacher in a single day. So far, I have about sixty. Too bad for her that I'm not gonna be around that long!  
  
"Anyway, like I was saying. I work at Uncle Bobby's garage after school. See, Aunt Louise keeps an eye on Mom during school hours, and then Cade and I alternate days when we watch her. Then Uncle Bobby comes home from the garage and Cade usually goes out and fucks his girlfriend. Well, his girlfriend or some random whore from one of the high schools around here... (Okay, so I don't know that for certain, but if there ever was a king of the hetero slut-puppies of the world, Cade is it.)"  
  
"Why must we watch my mom, you ask? Well, if we don't, she'll go out on the street and find a dealer, disappear for a couple days or weeks, and then show up on the doorstep out of her fucking face on heroin. Cade says that it happened twice after she came to live with them. God, I just don't get it, Dean. Why's she gotta be like this? Doesn't she see how much it hurts her family; how much it hurts me? And if she does, does she even care? Coming here was such a mistake. I am so sorry, Dean, I really am...  
  
Miss you lots. Love you more.  
  
-Teddy Bear (ha ha)"  
  
****  
  
The dreaded phone call came that afternoon at lunch. I got called to the attendance office to take the call.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"I was just calling," Mom said all soft and distant-like, "to tell you that your father is in the hospital."  
  
"What?" I shouted. The secretary in the attendance office gave me this dirty look, so I glared at her and she made this funny scared-squeak sound and went back to typing. But I dropped my voice and demanded, "What's the matter; did the doctors say what happened?"  
  
"He had a stroke. He's still unconscious."  
  
"But he's alive?" I asked desperately.  
  
"Yes," she replied. I was so shocked and frantic that I hardly noticed how cold and controlled Mom sounded. Like she didn't care, or maybe, that she didn't care that I cared.  
  
I asked quickly, "Do you want me to come home? I can come home if you--"  
  
"Now, why the hell would I want that?" she said nastily, "Haven't /you/ done enough already?" And before I could respond, a loud click told me that she had hung up.  
  
"Bitch," I hissed, automatically almost, and as I hung up the phone, I felt the goddamned tears starting up in my eyes.  
  
****  
  
'I don't care. I do /not/ care.' I repeated to myself as I splashed some cold water on my face in the bathroom. 'So what if she hates me? So what if...if Dad is in the hospital. I don't care. They can go to hell.'  
  
Fuck, who the hell was I kidding? I cared. This hurt, worse than getting stomped on in a mosh pit, worse than the time I broke my arm white-water rafting, worse even than having Fulton leave.   
  
My parents hated me.  
  
I could feel the tears stinging my eyes again and watched my knuckles go white as I clutched the edge of the sink right before they went all blurry. 'I am not a fucking baby! I'm not going to cry about them; they don't give a fuck about me...'  
  
"Goddammit!" I cried, blindly lashing out with my fists against the wall. I heard the shatter of glass, but it barely registered beyond that. "Why?"  
  
I don't know how it happened, but the next thing I remember was sitting in the nurse's office with her turning one of my big, bloodied paws over in both of her small, dark hands, and someone was saying, "I just found him in the bathroom beating the shit out of the mirror above one of the sinks...I don't know what was going on..."  
  
"I'm sorry," I muttered, and my voice was all raspy and croaky from crying and yelling. The nurse jumped a little, but she sent a shaky smile my way.   
  
"It's okay, Mr. Portman. You didn't hurt anybody else. And these cuts on your hands don't look very deep; thank goodness that there's no glass in them." She let my hand go and said, "There's a sink right behind you, could you wash up, please?"  
  
I turned and went to the sink. It was then that I caught sight of who had brought me here.  
  
Riley.   
  
My gut twisted with anger and embarrassment. Of all people. Riley, Varsity captain and sworn enemy of all the Ducks, would have to catch me in my lowest, weakest moment. And then help me. I ignored him and turned the water on so that it ran warm, hitting the little SoftSoap pump bottle a few more times than necessary, then lathering up. Pink froth was spilling out of my hands, and I stared intently at it, studying the motions of my fingers, ignoring Riley's presence and the sting of the soap.   
  
"Um, Portman?" He ventured to ask at last, quietly. The nurse had vanished, probably to get antibiotics and bandages. I sighed and snapped out,  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are...are you okay?" I glared at him and he seemed to realize the total buttheadedness of his question. He stammered, "I...I mean, um, that is...what happened...to make you all...er, you know..."  
  
"Yeah?" I growled, rinsing my hands. I pulled a couple of paper towels down from the painted-white metal dispenser and carefully mopped up the little beads of blood that welled up fresh from the shallow cuts. Riley was trying to avoid looking at what I was doing, but as he spoke, he would dart quick glances at my hands, and the sight seemed to fluster him terribly.  
  
"What I'm sayin' is, er...can you handle it? I mean, by yourself. I know...with, uhm, Fulton gone and all...that you, er...uh...well..." Riley stopped and took a deep breath, finally managing to spit it out. "This problem you got, personal or whatever, you're gonna talk to those friends of yours about it, right? Because I'm not gonna say anything to anybody, but I don't want you to turn out all suicidal or whatever, you know?"  
  
"You should be so lucky." I told him, feeling a cold little smile twisting up my lips.   
  
He nodded, looking uncomfortable. He turned away and muttered, "Um, so...I'll go now."  
  
"Riley." I said as he headed out the door. He stopped. I said quietly, "Thanks. For...you know."  
  
"Yeah. You're welcome."  
  
"Nothing to anybody?"  
  
"Nothing to anybody." He promised.  
  
Surprisingly, he kept that promise.  
  
~~End Chapter Six~~ 


	7. FULTON Kleptos, Slutboy, the Pink Wonder...

A/N: We interrupt the piling-on of Portman-angst to bring you some "insanely sexy" (whatever you say, guys...) Fulton-in-Baton-Rouge-ness. And a new OC. Don't hurt me!  
  
****  
  
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Seven"  
  
[FULTON GARRETT REED]  
  
After school on Tuesday, I sat in my room and started to go through my repitoire of songs: 'We Are the Champions' and 'We Will Rock You' courtesy of Dwayne; 'Blitzkreig Bop'; 'Holidays in the Sun,' 'Pretty Vacant,' and 'Anarchy in the U.K.'; 'Lake of Fire'; and 'Come as You Are,' 'Sliver,' 'Lithium,' and 'Rape Me.' I was halfway through 'Pretty Vacant' when Cade knocked on the door. I knew it was Cade because when I checked about half an hour ago Mom was in her room, practically unconscious on the bed. And she sleeps for four hours at a time, almost so that you could set a watch by it.  
  
"What do you want, Cade?" I called.   
  
Apparently, he thought it meant 'come on in' because he opened the door, walked in like he owned the place--which he doesn't, even if his father does--and tossed a magazine on the bed. "Here. Thought you might want this."  
  
I glanced at it. One of those guitar monthlies like Aunt Louise had been pointing out on all the newsstands lately. You'd think I was some kind of musical prodigy, the way she acted. "Where'd you get it?"  
  
"Took it out of some kid's backpack in study hall," Cade said casually, with the lazy, self-important grin that Ellie and about sixty other girls think is attractive. "It's an old one anyway."  
  
"Yeah, thanks," I muttered, absently plucking the first few notes to 'Lake of Fire.' I'd checked an issue of the magazine--'Guitar World'--once. There weren't any tabletures in it; I could only work from tabletures, or from playing by ear. I had no intention of keeping the magazine. Cade is a mild kleptomaniac--I'm fairly sure that he steals small things from his friends and then gives them back later, just to satisfy his weird craving for theft.   
  
"Are we leaving now, Sugar?" Ellie simpered at Cade, poking her head into my room. Her gold-brown hair was teased within an inch of its life to flip outwards, she had a dark pink sundress on, and tall platform sandals that matched the dress exactly. She smiled her fake smile at me and wiggled her fingers in the kind of wave that besotted relatives give to little babies.   
  
"Yeah." Cade smiles at her, and--for my benefit, I'm sure--practically bends her backwards with a deep kiss. "You ready, Princess?"   
  
Ugh. Excuse me while I gag myself with the Gibson's headstock. Fortunately, Slutboy and the Pink Wonder took their lovey-dovey bullcrap out of the house in a minute. At least Dean and I have the decency not to sicken people with public displays of affection.  
  
Oh, fuck. 'Nice going, Fulton; depress yourself.' I stuck my guitar back in its case and flopped down on the bed. I missed Dean.   
  
****  
  
I had a dream that night. I don't remember what it was about--I rarely do--but I woke up crying. That just /couldn't/ be a good start to the day. Fortunately, I remembered to pack the magazine into my bookbag before leaving for school with Cade. He's a junior and has his driver's license now, but of course his little trophy girlfriend gets shotgun, so I have to put up with the cramped backseat of his Z.   
  
Almost immediately, Mac Perry, that skinny long-haired dude, stormed up to Cade and demanded, "Okay, you fuckin' klepto, where the fuck's my magazine?"  
  
"What magazine?" Cade asked, mocking grin securely in place. In a way, I could see that Cade had reason to laugh--Mac was wearing these ugly plaid pants that I swear I saw in the Juniors section at JC Penny, a collection of brightly colored plastic bracelets that looked like they came out of those 25 cent machines, a purple shirt reading in bright pink fabric-paint 'I know you are but what am I?,' and white boots.  
  
I rolled my eyes. "You brat, don't play dumb," I told him. "Oh, wait, you're not playing." Mac looked at me in surprise, but he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. I slung my backpack off one arm and unzipped the big compartment. "Here's your mag. Cade thought I could use it."  
  
"Really? Amazing, he thought of something." Mac quipped. Cade said nothing, only glared at me and walked away with Ellie clinging like a leech to his arm.   
  
I shrugged and started heading to Honors English--the stupid admissions counselor decided to 'challenge' me, so I couldn't avoid it--when he called me back.   
  
"Hey, wait a minute!" I glared at him over my shoulder. Best to play into the little role that Istrouma cast me in. But he ignored the death glare and bounced on over to me. "Do you play guitar? Are you any good? If you want, I could--"  
  
"Perry," I growled, "I have to go all the way across campus. Keep talking and I'll be late. That would not be good."  
  
"Oh." He said, looking sort of sheepish. I took my chance and got out of there.  
  
****  
  
Mac tracked me down near the pool at lunch, despite my best efforts to be invisible--but when you're a hefty-looking six one, that's difficult anyway. Again, he questioned if I played the guitar, whether I played well, and so on. I gave in and told him I was beginning to play the bass guitar, I didn't think I was very good at all, I listened to a lot of hard rock and punk, and no, I'd rather that he not try to give me lessons.   
  
"Aw, Fulton, man," he cried--and just who the hell gave him the right to use my first name?--"come on! I'm really not that scary!" He tried putting an arm around my shoulder--his hand barely reached my left shoulderblade (he was sitting on my right)--and whispered conspiratorially, "Is it 'cause people say I'm gay?"  
  
"Dude, don't touch me," I ordered him, shrugging to rid myself of his friendly gesture. "That's not it. You're just an annoying pest is all."  
  
"Fulton. I am not gay; you can ask my bandmates!"  
  
"Perry, that's not a problem. Your unnerving persistance in being friendly towards me, though...that is." And have I made it clear yet that I really dislike people I barely know calling me by my given name? It annoyed me when Bombay did at first, I accepted it at the Goodwill Games, I tolerated it from Orion at Eden Hall, but nothing says that I have to take it from this quasi-crossdressing reject.  
  
"Fulton!" He exclaimed, frustrated.  
  
That did it. "Quit calling me Fulton!" I shouted at him, "I never gave you permission to call me that!"  
  
"What's your /damage,/ man?" Mac mumbled, dodging the curious stares that I seem to have a habit of attracting.   
  
"I don't like total strangers coming up and being all buddy-buddy with me," I hissed in an undertone to him, "and I don't like being here hundreds of miles away from my boyfriend and teammates, and I don't like being in this fucking school full of fucking morons like /you/! So leave me /alone/, Perry."  
  
"Did you say 'boyfriend'?" Mac whispered back curiously.  
  
I scowled at him and walked away. 'What a jerk!'  
  
****  
  
The whole Mac Perry fiasco pissed me off enough that I took the chance of skipping Ms. DeMarco--also known as the Mistress of the Innermost Sanctum of My Personal Hell--and Calculus at the end of the day. I walked home, knowing that Cade wouldn't care.  
  
At that moment in time, I despised Mac. If anyone had told me then that he'd eventually become one of my best friends, I would have suspected severe head trauma. But if anyone had told me two years ago that I would fall in love with Dean Portman--and that he'd reciprocate those feelings--I would have suspected the same.   
  
Just goes to show that life is never really what you expect.  
  
~~To be continued...~~ 


	8. PORTMAN CHARLIE ADAM Books, Laundry, Go...

A/N: Just wanted to say that all the books mentioned in this chapter are real. And I have read them all, except for 'Tuned Out' by Maia Wojceichowska. I reccommend them all, and 'I'll Get There. It Better Be Worth the Trip.' by John Donovan as well. What the hell happened to all these great books--how come people aren't writing stuff like this anymore?  
  
Ooh, and sorry that it is a bit short, but I haven't updated in a while and figured that I should. Sorry, Katie! More soon, I promise!  
  
****  
  
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Eight"  
  
[DEAN AARON PORTMAN]  
  
The next two days were...interesting. I didn't say a word to anybody, and no one tried to talk to me. Well, except for when we Ducks passed each other in the halls--then they would say 'hi, Portman' and keep going. Maybe it was the hands, which were covered inflamed cuts; or maybe because I looked like I hardly slept at all anymore (I hadn't); or just possibly the fact that I had started growling at people. I remembered what Fulton had said about seeming to always end up knee-deep in shit, and right then, I felt about waist-deep and getting deeper.   
  
I waited for my mom to call back. Even if they'd disowned me, I had the feeling that if Dad actually did kick the bucket, I'd get a call from Mom, accusing me of killing him or demanding whether I was happy that he was dead...messed-up shit like that, you know? I waited for Fulton's letters. And while I waited, I hung out in the library--because it was always quiet there, and nobody bothers you in the library.  
  
Usually, I'd bypass fantasy and that kind of thing, but for some reason, a beat-up old copy of 'The Hero from Otherwhere' by Jay Williams attracted me when I saw it lying on one of the tables next to a comfortable reading chair. There was a red wolf near the top of the front cover, looking like it was walking away from an explosion, casing a blue-and-purple shadow over a kind of moonscape, and the shadows of two figures holding spears near the bottom. I picked it up and scanned the summary on the back cover:  
  
'It was a case of hate at first sight.' Hmm, interesting. Sounded a little like Fulton and I. 'Not only did Jesse and Rich dislike each other from their very first meeting at school, but they were almost total opposites physically and tempermentally. Sent to the principal's office after a fight, they are stunned to find themselves in a strange room with two magicians from a parallel world.' Might as well give it a try.  
  
I flipped open the cover and read the excerpt on the first page. Now I was hooked. I flopped down into the chair--it gave a creaky groan of protest that I ignored--and flipped the page.   
  
'Also from the Laurel Leaf Library: 'Dinky Hocker Shoots Smack!' by M.E. Kerr' Definitely gonna check that one out, too.  
  
Hm. 'The Hero from Otherwhere' was from 1972. The others listed in the book were probably from the same period. Why had I never heard of these books before? They actually sounded cool, not full of bullshit like 'The Great Gatsby' and 'Gone with the Wind' and 'Jane Eyre,' which is what all the English classes try to shove down my throat and I never understand what the hell they're all about.   
  
I mean, the title character from 'The Great Gatsby' was just a crook, an asshole who fucked another guy's wife then got killed by the end and hardly anybody came to the funeral. Big fuckin' deal. And 'Gone with the Wind' is about a thousand pages of idiotic dribble about a spoiled Southern girl and the Civil War--I only got to the end of chapter two before losing my temper and tossing the book in the garbage.  
  
I started looking for some of the other books. As I passed the 'P' shelf looking for 'Tuned Out' by Maia Wojceichowska (/that/ is a nightmare of a name), another book caught my eye. 'Freak the Mighty' by Rodman Philbrick. Well, better trust the instinct. If I don't like it, I can bring it back. I picked it up and put it on top of my stack.   
  
I think the librarian was surprised to see me at the desk with five paperback fictions, rather than one or two of the thinnest possible non-fiction books--I do try to understand some school subjects better by reading about them, I'm not that stupid--but she got over it. She even smiled at me and said, "Happy reading."   
  
We'll see about that.  
  
****  
  
[CHARLIE DANA CONWAY]  
  
I was worried about Portman. He'd been sulking around for weeks since Fulton left, but a few days ago, he'd taken a turn for the worse. There were some nasty-looking cuts on his hands, but he wouldn't say a thing about them. And after being glared and growled at the first time I tried, I wasn't about to ask him again.   
  
I hate asking Les to do the laundry. He always leaves my clothes all over my bed. At least I have the courtesy to fold his stupid shirts and jeans when it's my turn.   
  
Someone knocked on the door and I yelled back, "Come in!"   
  
Adam poked his head in. "Hey," he greeted me, "my roommate brought his girlfriend up to our room. Mind if I hang out with you for a while?"  
  
"No problem. Pull up some carpet."   
  
"What the hell happened in here?" Adam asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He swept one arm in a gesture that indicated all the still-unfolded clothes that covered the desk, chair, and both beds.   
  
"Hurricane Averman," I told him. "Les has a chronic fear of folding his clothes. Either that or dryer sheets make him break out in hives."  
  
Adam laughed. "Hey, have you heard any good rumors about Guy lately?"  
  
"Is there such a thing as good rumors?" I asked. "And no, I've heard nothing."  
  
"Well, I only ask because I've seen him hanging around with a girl." Adam said. He knew that I'd be hooked if I said that. And that I'd go track down Guy just for confirmation. And that I would then report back to him. Adam is a gossip-addict.  
  
I finished folding my t-shirts. As I stacked them on the closet shelf I asked, "What about Portman? Anybody talking about him?"  
  
"A lot of speculation about those cuts, nothing concrete." Adam replied. "Although Jack Tulay says that one of the bathrooms was closed after lunch three days ago. Which was the same lunch period that Portman got that phone call and never came back to the table, remember?"  
  
"Yeah. How come they closed the bathroom?"  
  
"Mike Fletcher saw the janitor, carrying a dustpan full of glass out of that bathroom, on his way to fourth period."  
  
"Broken mirror?" I wondered.   
  
"Probably..." Adam mused.  
  
We looked at each other, and I could tell that Adam was following the same path of logic as I was. Portman gets a phone call at lunch. Portman never comes back from phone call. Bathroom is closed after lunch so that the janitor can replace a broken mirror. Portman has cuts on his hands.   
  
Deduction? Portman flipped out and smashed a mirror after recieving his phone call. But why?  
  
I figure that Adam is asking himself the same question. "Wanna track down Portman?"  
  
"Depends," Adam answered. "Do you have your Angry Growls-to-English Dictionary?"  
  
****  
  
[ADAM WILLIAM BANKS]  
  
I followed Charlie to the second floor of the dorm, a little nervous about disturbing Portman in his sanctum sanctorum, as it were. There was the feeling that if I said or did something wrong, Portman would pounce, probably breaking me in two with his bare hands. But I followed. No way would I let Charlie go by himself; the poor guy is plauged by a chronic case of foot-in-mouth disease.   
  
Charlie knocked on the door and called out, "Portman? It's Conway and Banks, can we come in?"  
  
Almost immediately, the door was flung open, banging against the wall. A frightened "Eeep!" came out of my mouth, but I restrained myself from leaping into Charlie's arms and wailing, "Save me!". It was a hard fight. Portman loomed in the doorway, looking vicious and ominious.  
  
"Hi, Portman..." I managed to say in a very small voice.  
  
He growled.  
  
~~To be continued...~~ 


End file.
